Once More, With Feeling
by MiniWheatxx
Summary: Dean knows that it's gotta be some sort of side effect... He's sympathetic, really he is, but seriously, the crying's getting old. He's still not entirely sure Sam's soul didn't come back with bipolar disorder.
1. Chapter 1

**Part I**

The moment that Sam gets his soul back, it's perfectly acceptable, expected even. Sam's slumped against the wall, head bowed, hands fisted into his eyes, and he's sobbing, Jesus Christ, the kid is crying so hard he's actually shaking. Dean's moving before he even knows what he's doing because this isn't a shell anymore, this isn't RoboSam , this is Sam, _Sammy_, and Dean is so relieved, he lets Sam bury his face into his neck and he cries right along with him…

They're at a diner two days later when the waitress gets Sam's order wrong. Sam had ordered a grilled chicken sandwich on wheat bread. What comes out is breaded chicken on a hamburger bun. Dean watches, slightly sympathetic and slightly amused as his entire face falls and he stares at the plate like it's personally wronged him.

"… You can order another sandwich," Dean offers after a few moments of tense silence, because really, he isn't sure what's gonna set his brother off these days. Sam looks at him, shakes his head mournfully and pushes the plate away.

"Do you want some of my fries?" Dean tries, pushing his own plate alluringly towards Sam. He can tell that Sam appreciates the offer, and really he should, because this is Dean and Dean rarely shares food. His little brother forces a smile, which looks more like a tired grimace than anything and says, "No thank you," in this meek, sort of defeated voice. He then proceeds to stare out the window and trace the pattern of raindrops that are falling against the pane. It's the saddest, most pathetic picture Dean's ever seen.

Later that day, a homeless man stops them in the street and asks them if them for spare change. Dean's about to walk away when Sam pulls out his wallet and gives him the last few bills that he has and feigns another smile as the man tucks it away and goes on to his next conquest.

"Are you okay, man?" Dean asks when he catches a peek at his brother's face, once again pulled into that same kicked expression that he's been wearing since he's gotten his soul back. His eyes are shining, teeth worrying his bottom lip before he looks at Dean. And if he were that kind of guy, Dean would have pulled him into a hug right then and there because that look should only be reserved for orphaned children and tiny, abused animals. Instead, Dean just gives him an inquiring look before Sam lets out a soft sigh.

"He's got nobody, y'know?" Is all Sam offers in explanation and Dean juts a thumb over his shoulder to point at the homeless man who's made his way across the street.

"That guy?" He asks and Sam just nods. Dean smiles and claps his younger brother on the shoulder before grinning broadly. "Who needs friends when you got booze, huh?"

It was supposed to be a joke. Turns out it wasn't as funny as Dean had hoped it would be when Sam's face falls even further and he asks, in a voice that a grown man really shouldn't be able to pull off, "You really think he's an alcoholic? That's so sad…"

Dean thinks maybe it's karmas punishment that he spends the next hour and a half hustling pool for money that Sam gives away. It doesn't put a smile on his face, but at least the tears are gone from his eyes.

They're back at the motel later when the news anchor breaks in about a new development on a recent missing person's case. He watches Sam's eyes well up again when they announce that the body's been identified and Dean's up in a flash, turning the TV off completely because… He just doesn't think he can handle anymore of this tonight.

Sitting at the foot of Sam's bed, Dean is watching him carefully, studying him like he's 9th grade algebra homework that Dean just can't figure out for the life of him.

"Do you have… Y'know, cramps or anything?" Dean's got a few theories in his head on what could possibly be wrong with his brother, but he actually surprises himself when _that's _the one that chooses to leave his lips, because it was mostly a private joke in his own head. Sam looks at him like he's crazy but Dean's gaze doesn't waver. He's seen this before, bared witness to a few of Lisa's meltdowns. "Or any… Abnormal bleeding… Down there?" For all of Dean's teasing Sam about being a girl, if soul removal is possible, gender swapping is a perfectly logical theory.

Sam seems to catch on after a moment, his eyes widening in appalled shock before he's up off the bed in a second, eyes bright, and this time, Dean doesn't know if he should be relieved or not when it's with anger and not tears. Dean doesn't move when Sam slams himself into the bathroom, punctuating his exit with something that sounds suspiciously like, "Fuck you, Dean, you're not funny."

After a few moments, Dean gets up off the bed, a guilty look on his face and knocks on the door. He chuckles awkwardly and murmurs, "… Just kidding, Sammy."

The kid doesn't come out for the rest of the night.

Dean sort of misses 'crying Sam.' This new attitude that Sam's got going on is… Not intimidating, no, because Dean's the older brother and Sam's his geekboy sidekick. But if there were a time Dean was to view Sam in an intimidating light, it would be now.

Ever since that night, Sam's been on edge. Dean takes too long in the shower, he's too loud, too early in the morning, and just generally in the way, along with the rest of the population. And if Dean were intimidated by this new version of his brother, he would have tactfully avoided him as much as possible. But Dean wasn't intimidated, so he just, you know, gave him his space.

It's Dean's fault in retrospect for taking him to the bar. But Dean had this theory that if he just got a couple drinks into Sam, that he could talk, maybe cry (again), and sleep off whatever this… _thing_ was and get back to normal.

What Dean hadn't counted on was the douchebag guy so obviously out of his league, just not taking no for an answer with a pretty, young brunette in the corner. Things are okay until he grabs her arm and of course, of _course_, Sam would notice and of course it couldn't have happened the other day, when Sam would have wept in anguish at the very sight. No, of course it had to happen tonight. Sam was up off the stool before Dean could stop him and by the time Dean got over there, the guy was on the floor, muttering apologies at either Sam or the brunette, Dean wasn't quite sure.

Dean pulls Sam away and they make their escape before the cops and paramedics arrived.

"Why'd you pull me away, Dean?" Sam's pacing the room as Dean shuts the door, taking deep breaths and peaking out the window to make sure they weren't followed by any cops. "He deserved what was coming to him!"

"What was coming-" Dean sputters an incredulous laugh. "Sam he _got_ what was coming to him, several times thanks to you!"

"He deserved more than that," Sam replies, his voice low with unconcealed anger as he glances towards the door again. Dean has this brief image of Sam barreling his way through both him and the door to go after the poor schmuck again before Sam diverts his eyes to the carpet, pursing his lips.

"Dude, he's down and out, you got him good," Dean's saying, trying to placate. "He looked like one of those freakish Picasso paintings; I swear his eyeball was hanging down by his chin!" Dean's voice rises a bit with how accurate that account really is and he glances at Sam who's slowly looking up at him, the look on his face almost curious, like he's actually wondering why Dean is yelling at him.

"I'm worried about you, Sammy," Dean says after a few tense moments of silence, an explanation to Sam's unspoken question.

It's almost like magic when that anger melts off his face, slowly but surely and the younger brother tilts his head a little bit. "You are?"

Dean nods with a small sigh, risking a step closer now that Sam doesn't look like a rabid dog on the attack anymore. "I wanna help you, you're just… Not making it very easy," He says, his voice softer this time, reserved for situations like this, and only situations involving Sam.

Sam suddenly smiles; it's small, dimples barely making an appearance, but it's genuine, something Dean hasn't seen since before Sammy plunged straight into hell and Dean finds himself smiling too.

"Thanks Dean," Sam says, his voice lighter, genuinely happy and Dean can't do anything but stare.

"For what?" He asks, clearly baffled.

Sam smiles a bit bigger this time and huffs a small laugh, "For worrying about me."

One thing that doesn't change with Sam's moods is the nightmares he has at night. Crying, angry, smiling… It doesn't matter, when Sam closes his eyes, Dean knows he's seeing hell. He stays awake most nights, there to put a calming hand on his shoulder when he gets too restless, murmuring soft words of 'it's okay, Sammy' or 'I got ya, little brother' when Sam's face contorts like he's in pain or afraid.

It's 2:37 in the morning when Dean blinks bleary eyes open, having actually fallen asleep that night, and hears Sam shuffling in the bed next to him. He's sitting up before he's even fully awake, rubbing at his eyes before he hears a noise that stops him cold. Sam's talking in his sleep, his words coming out short and frightened, and Dean almost loses it when the younger man whimpers, actually _whimpers_ out the words, "_Please stop_."

Dean's climbing out of bed, kneeling next to his sleeping brother's form and placing a hand on his forehead, soothing him the only way he's known how since he was a boy. Sam doesn't calm like he has the other nights, he simply turns over, curls himself into an impossibly smaller ball and murmurs, like he's begging for help, _"Dean."_

Dean pulls his hand away, climbs back into his own bed, and stares at the ceiling. Dean feels helpless, like he's failed somehow. Because he can't save Sam from hell, Dean knows firsthand that those memories will always be there breathing down his neck. That night, Dean is the one that cries.

Sam is smiling a lot now, laughing at Dean's stupid jokes, and even offering some of his own. Dean knows he should be grateful but he's mostly just confused.

They're two hours out of South Dakota and Sam won't shut up. He's telling Dean about the documentary he watched on animal planet last night after Dean had fallen asleep and God help him he just _doesn't care_ how long the chameleon's tongue is, (_as long as its body_, Sam had informed him), although he does come up with about seventeen racy jokes to go along with the fact.

He knows it's mean, but right in the middle of Sam's lecture about dung beetles (no friggin thank you), Dean pops in Zeppelin II and sighs in relief when Ramble On blocks out Sam's incessant talking. He blinks in confusion when Plant's voice is joined by another, definitely not his own, off key and entirely too familiar. Dean casts a glance over to his younger brother, who is indeed, singing along, looking out the window and tapping his fingers to the beat against the glass.

Dean actually turns the music down and Sam glances over at him, tilting his head.

"I didn't even think you knew the words," Dean says after a second and Sam laughs.

"It's your favorite song," He replies with a bright grin, like that explains everything.

Dean watches him for a moment before Sam says, "Red light" and points like Dean needs to know which way he should be looking. He runs the light and Sam calls him a felon with another grin.

Dean looks back at him for a second and then lets a small smile quirk at his own features and thinks that Sammy should really smile more often.

And on that note, Dean blinks, wonders when he grew boobs and turns the radio back up to ear splitting. Sam's still singing and after a while, Dean rolls down the window and sings along with him. And if he casts a few glances towards Sam, smiling when his younger brother can't see him, well, Dean's the only one that'll know.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: So this story was only supposed to be two parts but I see now that there's a bit more here to tell than I'd first realized. So there will be a third part. This part is a bit shorter than the first, but I felt like it was an appropriate place to end it. That said, enjoy part two._

**Part** **II**

It's their second night staying at Bobby's when Dean realizes that all good things really do come to an end. Sam was a riot while they ate dinner, seriously, even had Dean cracking up in a way that he hadn't since he and Sam were kids.

Bobby puts a hand on his shoulder, chuckling right along with them and says, "It's good to have you back, kid." And Sam flashes him a small, almost embarrassed smile like he hadn't expected anybody to miss him.

Sam goes out later. They're out of Advil and since their limbs haven't gotten the memo that they're not sixty years old, they just feel like it, it's a definite necessity. It surprises Dean that part of him wants to go with him, wants to make sure he doesn't come back soulless and uncaring, since they've been practically joined at the hip since his return. But the other part of him rationalizes that Sam is strong, intelligent, and perfectly capable of going on a simple supply run on his own.

Three hours later, Dean is starting to think that he should listen to that overprotective, completely irrational side of himself more because it's always right.

"I'm going to look for him," Dean says as he snaps his phone shut, shrugging his jacket on and tucking his gun in the waistband of his jeans. Without a second thought, he also grabs Ruby's knife.

"Dean now hold on, is it possible that he's just-"

"When is Sam ever just late?" Dean practically snaps, finishing the older hunter's thought process easily. "Sam's never just late. He's hurt, he's been taken, he's run off, but he's never just late." There's an unintentional bitterness in Dean's tone that he knows Bobby notices, but chooses not to comment on. Good. He has a right to be bitter.

Finding Sam takes a lot longer than Dean is comfortable with, because with each second that passes comes another image of what could have happened, of what could be happening in the moment. When Dean does find him, he sees red.

Sam's face is a mass of already purpling bruises. There's a small trickle of blood trailing from his temple down his cheek, creating a stark contrast to his frighteningly pale complexion. He's been forced up against a wall, one bulky male demon on each side of him, making damn sure that he's not going anywhere, while a third saunters in front of him. She trails a knife over his chest almost sensually, the blade ripping through buttons and fabric easily so that Sam's chest is bared. It leaves Dean's little brother looking exposed and vulnerable.

It's not the injuries that have Dean shaking with anger, no, it's the words that are being spewed from the creature standing in front of him.

"You remember don't you, Sammy?" She's saying and Sam lifts his chin just a hair to look at her. She smiles at him and trails the blade over his cheek, leaving a thin line of crimson in its wake. Sam barely flinches, but his face grows paler as she speaks. "I'm morbidly curious… Tell me about it. Tell me about your time in hell."

Sam lets his eyes drop again, puts up a short lived struggle before a fist slams into his gut, doubling him over and leaving him breathless. "Did they carve?" The demon whispers, grasping his chin in her hand so he's forced to look at her before she brings the knife up to slowly graze down his temple, worryingly close to his eye. "Was it slow? Messy? Were you a screamer, Sam? I'll bet you were…" That's when Sam clamps his eyes shut, and Dean recognizes this, knows that Sam is remembering and that he can't handle this at the best of times. And when Sam lets out a terrified whimper, Dean can't wait any longer, even knowing he's outnumbered.

Dean is shocked by how easily he takes them out, how simple it is to slide the knife up to the hilt into the hosts, and how much he doesn't care about anything but getting his brother out of there. They're both covered in blood by the time that their eyes meet, and the look on Sam's face nearly breaks him.

When Sam won't even step outside of Bobby's house for two days, Dean knows that something's wrong.

"Why're you packing?" Sam asks as he makes his way into Bobby's living room, watching Dean stuff a t-shirt into his duffle. "Are you leaving?"

Dean finally glances up and his face falls a bit at the look on Sam's face. It's the same one he's been wearing for two days, on edge, frightened, afraid of abandonment. "Sam… _We're_ leaving, m'not going anywhere without you," Dean explains, because they've played this game before and for the last 48 hours, Dean has had his patience tested, but he knows how to handle this now, and for Sam, he will.

"I can't," Sam argues hastily but Dean holds a hand up and for some reason, Sam actually listens, shutting his mouth quickly and letting his eyes drop to the floor.

"Sam, I'm not trying to push you man, but… Come on, we've overstayed our welcome, there's a hunt not too far from here-" Dean doesn't even finish the statement before Sam is shaking his head, eyes widening with fear.

"No hunt, Dean… Please," Sam is begging him now, but they have to get out here, away from this, because it's the only thing that Dean can think of to help his brother. They have to find some sort of normalcy again; he can't hide away from the world. As many times as that world has kicked them in the ass, it still needs them, and Dean can't ignore that.

"It's routine, Sam, a simple salt n' burn. We're going." The words are tough, almost commanding, and Dean sounds so much like his father for a moment he scares himself. It's tough love though, he needs to do this.

When Dean looks at those eyes again, however, he feels like he's just taken candy from a baby or kicked a puppy or something. He turns away before he can see the shake in Sam's hands and remembers a time when Sam wasn't afraid of anything… Selfishly, he wonders which version of his brother he's better off hunting with.

Surprisingly, the hunt goes off without a hitch. They come out no worse for the wear; Sam has his back, like Sam _always _had his back and Dean regrets ever thinking he'd be better off hunting with the shell that had tried to pass as his brother for over a year. Sam falls back into it like the pro that Dean knows he is and even seems better off for it. He's grateful for that because for all his great acting, like he knew what he was doing, how to fix Sam, he wasn't completely sure it wouldn't just make him worse.

Dean knows that it's over, at least for now, when they're back in the motel and Sam offers to pick up dinner. His eyes aren't darting every which way like he's expecting something to come at him from every side, his hands aren't shaking, and he's relaxed his stance. Dean's grateful, but wary as to what comes next.

He's made a mental list of everything Sam's displayed so far: Sadness, anger, happiness, fear… Dean has to be prepared for what comes next, because these whirlwinds of emotions are exhausting and dangerous for anybody that stands too close.

"Dean?" Sam presses, like he's already tried to get his brother's attention once. His brow is raised, eyes resting on Dean's form with some sort of fond confusion.

"What?"

"Dinner," Sam replies, tilting his head, his lips pulled into an amused smirk. "Y'know… Eating, that thing that keeps us alive- well, when the food isn't clogging your arteries." The jab at Dean's eating habit is punctuated with another halfhearted smirk and Dean smiles back even though the thought of Sam going anywhere alone right now is making his stomach shift uncomfortably.

"Right, we'll uh, we'll go," Dean replies as he gets up and grabs his jacket. He swings the keys to the Impala on his fingers while Sam watches him from the doorway with that little furrow right between his brow.

"But… I just offered to go pick it up," Sam reminds him, his tone getting a little bit defensive. It reminds Dean of the days that a teenage Sam would have this very same argument with John with phrases like, _"I don't need a freakin' babysitter," _or, _"stop treating me like a little kid_" being tossed around.

"You did," Dean replies, like he'd just remembered. "But I… I am hungry right now. An' I don't really wanna wait for you to bring it back, so it'll be easier if we just go together."

It's a bold faced lie and Sam knows, but he doesn't call him on it right away. He gives Dean that look, like for some reason this whole situation is kind of funny, but Dean isn't seeing the humor, he's not seeing it at all.

"Okay then," The younger brother relents with a small shrug, so much more anti-climactic than the fights with their late father, one thing for which Dean is grateful. Dean watches Sam's form retreat out the door and it's only a few seconds later that Dean follows him. He's waiting for the wind to pick back up, the torrential rain and the thunder and lightning, because he knows this calm won't last for long. This is simply the eye of the storm.


End file.
